


The Maker Certainly Has a Sense of Humor

by Arcangradian



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcangradian/pseuds/Arcangradian
Summary: Anora had not fallen as much as been thrown from grace, loosing her throne and country a decade ago to an upstart prince, but she'd maade the most of it, getting by and staying (relatively) out of trouble for a decade after. But the Maker has a dark sense of humor, and after attending the conclave as a favour the Grand Enchanter, Anora finds dragged back into forefront of history, and with a glowing hand and the fate of Thedas resting firmly on her shoulders to boot.tl:dr Dragon Age Inquisition where mostly everything is the same, but Anora is the Inquisitor.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	The Maker Certainly Has a Sense of Humor

Leliana stared down at the prone body stretched out on a bed, covered halfway up with a woolen blanket. A faint sheen lay over her skin, from where they cleaned the dirt and ash from her body, and a damn cloth placed over her forehead to keep her temperature down. According to the apothecist, the woman was now in stable condition.  
That was good, as this woman was the only lead they had on what had happened.  
As far as they knew, a massive explosion had occurred, seemingly out of nowhere, after most gatherants at the conclave had arrived. Most of the clerics, enchanters, and senior templar leadership, and most importantly, Divine Justinia, had all been caught in the blast. Now, a massive crater sat where the Temple used to be, and a hole in the sky - a magical one - a tear in the Veil, the mages had said, and demons were constantly coming through.  
A catastrophe, of near apocalyptic direness, and this unconscious woman, who had fallen out of a rift in the heart of the crater, was the only clue they had.  
The Breach was a problem, but Leliana would be lying if she said that was the only reason she was desperate for this woman to awaken.  
Justina was dead. Leliana refused to cry - to waste tears - as she had already done the second night - when Haven had been barricaded, the woman stowed away in the make-shift hospital, and everything went quiet save for the constant rupturing of that Breach and distant fighting.  
Justinia had been a good woman, one of the kindest and purest of heart that Leliana had ever known. She swore to herself, and to Justinia's memory, that she would find who had done this, and she would make them pay.  
She was not the only one who thought that though - the guards posted outside, and inside, the door to this woman's room, were a testament to that - but she could not afford to lash out blindly.  
Cassandra had wanted to. She became immediately convinced this unknown was entirely responsible. She still was. It had been an effort to calm the Seeker - whilst internally raging herself - enough that she saw the sense and the necessity of keeping the prisoner alive.  
The identification of said prisoner was of the utmost importance now. Leliana had sent Cassandra back to the frontlines, as this was her area of expertise.  
Carefully, she removed the blanket. It was perhaps a bit invasive, but it was by far not the worst thing Leliana had done.  
The woman was in a simple woolen tunic and pants, the armour she had been wearing having placed in a pile in the corner.  
First of course to examine was her face. The glowing mark on her hand was unlike anything seen before, so she would find no answers there.  
She looked like a commoner, not an inaccurate guess since her armour had that of a common mercenary, with her blonde hair oily and unwashed and disheveled, though that was likely due to falling out of the fade and the last three nights spent in a feverish coma. The cut was one of practically, shaved until the top, where it grew it in short, curly strands. Her hair may have been long once, Leliana imagined, long gorgeous locks, sadly unavailible to those who lived by armor and blade.  
Her face bore strong Ferelden features , a sharp, strong jaw and cheekbones, with a proud nose. Her cheeks and jaw. were also covered in angry red acne, so no means of affording the expensive creams used by nobles. She lacked, in her features, the hallmark of ferelden nobility though. Namely, a long face and shorter nose, so why did her face tug at Leliana's memory, and why was it related to Ferelden aristocracy?  
The last time she had dealt so much with ferelden nobility had been during the 5th Blight.  
They had found nothing else of note on her person - other than a necklace.  
Leliana glanced at it, where it lay on a small side table with the rest of the mysterious woman’s belongings. It was a small wooden carving of a mabari - in the traditional ferelden style. Unfortunately, the necklace gave no further hints, as such trinkets were commonly exchanged among fereldens. There were a few animistic tattoos along her shoulder and back, a mabari on her shoulder and a wyvern on her neck, beautifully done too, very rarely seen in modern Ferelden, the practice itself dating back to the Alamarri themselves. It was still practiced, or so Leliana had heard, amongst the rural common folk, however. A small clue perhaps?  
Precious little else spoke to her identity however. The entrance ledger to the Temple had been burned, along with the rest of it, so that could not help either.  
That left Leliana with the lone option of staring at the woman and willing herself to remember why she looked familiar.  
Blonde, tall, strong features, woman, ferelden. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, as Leliana ran through the list of Ferelden women she knew who matched that description.  
One woman came immediately to mind, though the likelihood of it being her was very low. Still, Leliana had come to learn to expect the unexpected, and as such, narrowed her eyes as recognition dawned on her.  
The door opened, and Leliana turned her head to see who had entered.  
Varric Tethras, Cassandra’s prisoner from Kirkwall, and a Deshyr of the Merchant’s Guild no less, stood at the door.  
“Nightingale! I did not expect to find you here.”  
Leliana’s brow furrowed, “And what do you seek with the prisoner?”  
“Cassandra asked me to come check on her, make sure the locals didn’t break in and kill her, and I thought I’d come sneak a peek at our mysterious prisoner for myself.”  
He glanced down at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “And it just so happens I might be able to help identify her.”  
Leliana tilted her head, “Really?”  
Varric grinned, and nodded, “Yes, I just might.” His face fell into a sigh, “At least I would hope it would help.”  
He stepped closer to the woman, squinting at her face. “Yeah, might be her. Her name’s Celia.”  
Oh. Leliana found herself not believing that however. A sharp instinct honed from a decade of experience told her not too.  
“How do you know her?”  
“There was some drama about two years ago, someone had robbed a wealthy merchant in Wycome. Turns out what they had stolen was the Gem of Keroshek - yes it actually exists,” Varric said quickly to Leliana’s slightly disbelieving look, “That merchant chased said thieves all around the Free Marches, until eventually, they hit Kirkwall.”  
Leliana waited for him to continue.  
“Hawke’s cousin had the gem, and there was a family reunion, very touching. This one however,” he pointed to ‘Celia’, “Spent most of that day in the Hanged Man, with an elf apostate named Surana. She left without ever meeting Hawke or me.”  
Leliana’s brow shot up, “Surana?”  
Varric nodded, “The one and only.”  
“Hmm.” Leliana glanced back down at the woman. “That would explain her involvement in the Mage-Templar conflict.” Surana was one of the most prolific, to those who knew, and as the Left Hand of the Divine, Leliana did, mage of the Mage’s Underground.  
Justinia had tolerated their actions, unofficially of course, even making use of them at some point to root out illegal lyrium smuggling. It was entirely possible that they could have met in the Free Marches, and decided to join forces. The 5th blight had shown Leliana just how odd friendships could be.  
Leliana shook her head imperceptibly beneath her hood. Whilst she did not doubt Varric’s story, and that this was indeed the correct woman from them, her identity was false.  
“I do not think Celia is her correct name.”  
Varric tilted his head with a frown.  
“Speak of this to no-one.”  
He inclined his head solemnly, “Secret’s safe with me, Nightingale.”  
Leliana folded her arms behind her back, fixing her stare on the woman.  
“I believe,” she said after a pause, “That this is Anora Mac Tir.”  
Varric’s expression remained still. “The former Queen of Ferelden.”  
The Dwarf’s face remained still again, and then he blinked slowly.  
“Right. Right why wouldn’t it be?”  
Leliana sighed softly through her nose, “I remember her.” She glanced down at Anora again, “Although she looked far more regal back then.”  
“When did you meet the Queen of Ferelden?”  
“During the Fifth Blight. We needed her help against Loghain. There were... complications in our alliance. She was to be executed, but Amell," she shook her head with a small fond smile," Well i suppose he felt remorse for having to betray her. He helped her escape Denerim. That was the last anyone had heard of her."  
Varric made a small 'hmm' and looked back at her.  
"Well shit. From Queen to common mercenary, to most wanted criminal in Thedas. I should write that down."  
"Yes, I'm sure it'd make for quite a romantic tale."  
"Let's hope this tale doesn't end in tragedy."  
"I believe the tragedy has already begun." Leliana said pointedly, ice coming unbidden into her tone.  
Varric looked like he was about to apologize but then his eyes fixed on Anora again. "Uhh, I think she's waking up."  
Leliana's attention snapped back to Anora, who was indeed stirring and groaning softly.  
"Call Adan, and the guards."  
Varric nodded once and rushed off. So, answers might finally come. Leliana fixed her eyes on the woman once more. If she was indeed responsible for what happened… Justice would be served, and if not, Leliana could only hope that this most unlikely woman held the key to their salvation.


End file.
